Trial by Fire

  The young lieutenant from Perth studied the alien device for a moment. “Confirmed in range, sir. The green one is within the optimum activation footprint now. The other two are within five kilometers.” The young Perther looked up. “Orders, sir?”

  Downing felt the collective eyes of his staff, the veteran security detachment, and even the Dornaani upon him. He swallowed. “Set the infiltration units’ final assault clock for three hours. Send the word to the irregular units that they will go active along with the preparatory barrage in ten minutes, but to await a final confirmation before jumpoff.” Because if the interstellar cavalry fails to come over the hill by then, a general ground attack will be suicide.

  “Messages sent to all units, sir.” The Aussie continued to look at him, unblinking, waiting.

  Downing closed his eyes—and saw Nolan’s smile. He smiled back. It was always your show, old boy. We’ve just been playing the notes you composed.

  Downing opened his eyes. “Start the clock. And let’s get ourselves airborne. We will soon have a battlefield to assess.”

  Central Jakarta, Earth

  Tygg, his hand covering the ear bud connected by wire to a short-range pager, muttered, “They’ve started the clock.”

  Trevor glanced at him. “Just now?”

  “Yeh. Well, a few seconds ago, given the delay between the ground repeaters from the Sundas to here. The general festivities start in ten minutes. Our own special party starts in a little less than three hours. Unless everyone gets waved off.”

  “Does that give us enough time for a stealthy approach?” Trevor looked out the window, saw the minarets of the Istiqlal Mosque rising up across a short stretch of the Merdeka Square.

  Tygg checked his watch. “Should. Our mob is ready to gather at the head of the assault route.”

  “Okay, then let’s get our own teams moving into place. Page mine along with yours, will you?”

  “Already done. How do the Roaches and Sloths look? Antsy?”

  Trevor raised his binoculars, made sure the laser rangefinder was off, scanned the recently walled complex that rose up beyond the Indonesian Supreme Court building which lay just to the west of the presidential palace. He looked for signs of activity at that part of the enemy perimeter. Nothing out of the ordinary. Trevor bit his lip—

  Tygg’s voice was low, closer to his ear. “Thinking about the inside team again?”

  “It shows?”

  “Might as well wear a sign, mate. Look, the resistance agents in the compound’s domestic staff placed the breaching charges themselves. They know to stay away as much as possible.”

  “Yeah, but we have no way to warn them, no way to tell them that the clock is running.”

  “Which they knew when they volunteered.”

  “Cold consolation.”

  Tygg’s voice was lower still. “Listen, Trevor, regardless of what you Yanks like to think, and the way you try to run your ops, not everyone has a reasonable chance of survival. And you don’t always get to fight the war you planned, eh?”

  Trevor looked up balefully. “You mean like the war where we assumed we’d have C4I dominance, GPS redundancy, and orbital weapon guidance?”

  “Yeah, that one. But this is the war we got, instead. And it’s the war that the team inside the compound got, as well. Today, they’ve drawn the short straw and the dirty job. Tomorrow, or sooner, it might be you who has to walk point, or be bunkmates with plastique.”

  “I know, Tygg. I’ve been there myself. I just hate seeing it happen to others. Particularly civilians.”

  He felt the tall Aussie’s hand come down on his shoulder. “You’ve a big heart, Trev, so big that it’s blinding you to something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There aren’t any civilians anymore. Not until we kick the last of these damned exos off our world.”

  Trevor lowered the binoculars, said, “You’re right,” and wished Tygg wasn’t. Trevor turned, smiled at the slightly younger man. “Well, I don’t suppose we should waste any time. Let’s gather the troops.”

  Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth

  “You wished to see me?” As one, the room’s occupants turned from the holotank to look at Caine.

  Darzhee Kut clattered forwards. “Caine Riordan, my apologies that I have been unable to share roof with you these past three days. I have been quite busy.”

  Caine scanned the room, saw Yaargraukh, the Hkh’Rkh Advocate with whom he had become friends at Convocation. The smallish Hkh’Rkh stared at him without any acknowledgment. Probably because I’m too politically toxic.

  However, First Fist had reared up to his full height and his crest was not merely erect but puffed out like a long fur stole saturated with static electricity. He pointed at Caine. “I will not suffer to be in the same room as this zhkh’grsh’hak’k.”

  Evidently, this was an insult so profound—or intricate—that the translator could not process it. Caine looked down at Darzhee Kut, whose polyps writhed once. The Arat Kur equivalent of an “I dunno” shrug.

  Yaargraukh’s voice was flat. “In your language, this would specifically refer to a courtesan who makes herself the property of one Family’s Lord, so that she may poison him in order to become the courtesan of a rival Family Lord. Only to repeat this process with yet another, greater Family Lord.”

  Trading up, Borgia-style. Caine cast about for an oblique retort to Graagkhruud’s insult, but let it go. Not smart, and besides, they brought you here for a reason.

  Something was going on. He could sense it in the way they were all clustered around the holotank, had been so intent on its contents that they had not even heard the door admit Caine and his Arat Kur guards. He returned his attention to Darzhee Kut, “This day, Speaker Kut, you seem busier still. May I be of some assistance?”

  “We think so. Please come and view the holotank.”

  As Caine came close to the tank, he bowed toward the senior Arat Kur. “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, I presume. I have heard your name sung, and am honored to meet you.”

  Hu’urs Khraam bobbed in return. “You know our greetings; this is well. Harmonies, Spokesperson Riordan. Forgive my inability to greet you as cordially as I would wish, but tell me”—he waved a claw in the direction of the holotank—“what do you make of this?”

  Caine looked. Bright yellow motes ringed the Earth in various orbits, a few others near the Moon and at the Lagrangian points, several more distributed through the vast spaces surrounding the whole tableau. But off to one side, with the Moon currently occluding them from the Earth, there was a broad and yet extremely dense cloud of angry, blood red needles. They were marked by various Arat Kur characters, some constantly transmogrifying, probably counting down range, ETA. But it meant nothing to him. Caine looked up. “With apologies, Hu’urs Khraam, if I am not given more information, I can only see a dispersed collection of yellow dots being approached by a much larger swarm of red ones.”

  “Of course. Urzueth Ragh, you have leave to explain.”

  First Fist closed half the distance to Caine in a single bound, the calar talons of his hands raised. “Tell him nothing!”

  Hu’urs Khraam shifted to look directly at First Fist. He did not speak. First Fist did not come closer, but neither did he move away..

  First Voice waved a dismissive claw. First Fist paced backward, never showing his back to Hu’urs Khraam or to Caine.

  Urzueth Ragh approached cautiously. “Speaker Riordan, as you no doubt gather, the yellow markers denote our ships and drones throughout cislunar space. As you may have also gathered, the red markers are, apparently, human vessels.”

  “Human?”

  “Yes, Speaker.”

  “Where did they come from, and when?”

  “They shifted in-system seven minutes ago, arriving en masse only three light-seconds out from Earth. This is much closer than your ships would normally hazard, is it not?”

  “Surely your information on our interstellar capabilitie
s is so extensive that my confirmation of it is unnecessary.”

  Urzueth Ragh bobbed once. “So it is as we thought. The lead elements of this formation will arrive here in several hours. In order to engage them in free space, and at sufficient range to intercept them before any of their drones can reach our orbital supremacy assets, our capital ships have had to commence slingshot exits from orbit.”

  Telling me your secrets? Well, why not? Who can I tell them to? Caine looked at the yellow dots that were hobbling slowly out of cislunar space, some playing crack the whip as they came out of Earth orbit in a gravity slingshot, others maneuvering to a rendezvous point halfway to the Moon. Collectively, it looked like a few drops of honey heading for what looked like a hailstorm of blood. Granted, Arat Kur technology was superior, but was it superior enough to make up for the tremendous imbalance in numbers? Or had their easy successes to date made them overconfident? Caine had a sudden impression of that shrewd smile that Nolan wore when he was about to close a trap, and resisted the urge to let it project itself onto his own features.

  Urzueth Ragh continued without pause. “Much of the supposed ‘human fleet’ is making a high-speed approach. It is our conjecture that this is to minimize exposure to our weapons. The fleets will pass each other at such high speed that they will only be in effective range of each other for less than a quarter of an hour. This includes the time increase that will result when we retroboost just prior to attaining engagement range.”

  Caine nodded. “So you intend to reverse vector and give chase in the event that our ships continue to accelerate away as quickly as possible from the spinal weapons on your shift-carriers and -cruisers.”

  “Precisely. We have also determined that these lead drones”—Urzueth Ragh wobbled his claw at a fine-grained bow wave of smaller red dots—“are at least three times the volume and mass of your standard models. They are also emitting unusual thrust signatures.”

  “How so?”

  “Their exhausts are consistent with antique solid-rocket boosters. Can you speculate why this might be?”

  “I can, but would be a traitor to do so.”

  Hu’urs Khraam interrupted. “Caine Riordan, did you not return to be a liaison between our peoples?”

  “I came to serve the purpose of peace for both our peoples. I did not come to betray mine, nor become an ally to yours.”

  Hu’urs Khraam’s polyps writhed. “This is a disappointment, but well-spoken—if there are any with ears to hear.” The rather hoary Arat Kur’s brow-ridge shifted in the general direction of the Hkh’Rkh: Graagkhruud was oblivious. First Voice seemed to be affecting unawareness, but his crest had shifted slightly.

  The only one to speak was Yaargraukh. “With your permission, Hu’urs Khraam, I believe I understand the human strategy in this. Their technology is slightly more advanced than our own, but still quite comparable. I suspect we would solve similar problems in similar ways.”

  Hu’urs Khraam bobbed; Urzueth Ragh stood aside. Yaargraukh approached the holotank, stood next to Caine. Was he clearing his throat or was that an almost imperceptible—and absolutely deniable—nod of acknowledgment, of greeting? Again, Caine suppressed a smile.

  Yaargraukh swung an appendage at the gap between the red fleet and Earth. “The humans are uncertain of the outcome of this surprise attack. This is unavoidable. Shifting in so close to their target, they had no opportunity to conduct any reconnaissance or gather any tactical intelligence. Thus, they needed a strategy that was flexible in regard to a wide spectrum of probable outcomes. I conjecture that these larger drones with unusual thrust signatures are among their best models, retrofitted with simple, but reliable, solid rockets. With these rockets, the drones can quickly accelerate ahead of the human fleet, becoming a far-flung buffer in front of their capital ships and regular drones, and reducing the time we have to intercept their lead elements. For if we fail to intercept this advance wave in time, they could penetrate deep enough into cislunar space to take our orbital assets under fire. This could significantly attrite our orbital surveillance and interdiction capabilities.

  “However, since the humans could not be sure that they will prevail, there is a second advantage to these solid-rocket boosters. I predict drones will be fitted with not one, but two boosters each. The first will accelerate the drones into the engagement area. However, the employment of the second booster will vary according to the evolving outcome of that engagement. If the human forces are losing, the second booster will be used to push the drones through the area of engagement at the highest possible speed, thereby minimizing their exposure to our fire. However, if the humans are either winning or stalemating us, the second stages will retroboost the drones, either slowing them down to make orbit and to continue engaging us, or—if they have already shot past—to return to cislunar space for the same purpose. This provides the humans with the type of operational flexibility that has increasingly become the hallmark of their operations since they first industrialized. And, given the vector and intercept values of the rest of their fleet, I project they intend to arrive in two or three separate waves. The later echelons not only provide a reserve that can add its weight to the general fleet engagement, but also have an increased ability to bypass our counterattacking forces and then retroboost into orbit. The consequences to our current orbital supremacy assets are once again, I presume, obvious.”

  Urzueth Ragh looked at the tank as if seeing it for the first time. “This strategy, if Yaargraukh discerns it correctly, would also make it prudent to leave a defensive force here in orbit. Just in case any of the human craft survive long enough to make it through.”

  Yaargraukh turned, his eyes bulging out momentarily. “You ignore the possibility that they might ultimately wrest control of the high ground from us. In which case, it is their ground forces which would enjoy orbital fire support.”

  Urzueth Ragh waved a dismissive claw. “How could they fare so well against our fleet? These human ships”—he waved a claw at the red horde—“can only be reserve or converted commercial craft. What else do the humans have left?”

  Yaargraukh considered for a moment, then walked over to Caine and looked him directly in the eyes. “Yes, what else do they have left?”

  Caine considered. If his guess about this recently arrived fleet was right—that it was part of an immense snare that the late Nolan Corcoran had set for extraterrestrial invaders—then Downing might actually want the Arat Kur to have a better understanding of the next piece of the puzzle-trap before it was sprung on them. Nolan thought like Sun Tzu: the best generals won wars by showing their adversaries the futility of fighting. On the other hand, it was dangerous to make any presumptions that might provide the enemy with data they shouldn’t have. However, come to think of it, there was a way to concretely determine if Downing wanted Earth’s invaders to know just what they were facing now—

  Caine straightened up. “Have you pinged the incoming ships for their transponder codes?”

  Urzueth Ragh sounded quizzical. “I beg your pardon, but why would they run transponder signals and identify themselves? That is folly.”

  “Usually, it would be. But I don’t think that will be the case today. Ping them.”

  The sensor operator looked at Hu’urs Khraam, who bobbed. The operator turned to his board, sent the ping. They would have the answer in a little less than twenty seconds.

  Halfway through the wait, Graagkhruud grew too impatient to remain silent. His black worm-tongue flickered around the sarcastic words. “So, tell us: how much of the proud human fleet remains to fight us?”

  The Arat Kur sensor operator was silent for a moment, then turned around. “Almost all of it, if these scans are correct.”

  Urzueth Ragh started forward. “I do not understand. What new fleet is this?”

  “It is not a new fleet, Senior Administrator,” explained the sensor operator. “It is the fleet we destroyed at Barnard’s Star.”

  “What? How could that be?”


  Yaargraukh merely looked at Caine, nodded, walked past him as the sensor operator continued his report. “I am reading transponders from the Commonwealth fleet carriers Enterprise, Intrepid, Courageous, and Federation fleet carriers Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Kiev. All are deploying their full complements of the latest generation of human high-gee capital ships—the President, Trafalgar, and Kursk classes—and the lighter, Bolton-class attack cruisers.”

  Graagkhruud’s crest had flattened; his long shoe-box of a mouth hung open. “This is not possible. Four of those shift-carriers were destroyed at Barnard’s Star.”

  Caine smiled. “Evidently not.”

  Darzhee Kut’s “What?” was not quite drowned out by Graagkhruud’s “Liar!”

  Caine only acknowledged Darzhee Kut. “I’m just going on a hunch, now, but let’s check something else. Do you have a record of the transponder signs of the individual capital ships you destroyed at Barnard’s Star?”

  Darzhee Kut bobbed. “Yes.”

  Caine turned to the sensor operator. “Check those tail numbers against the ones you’re reading now.”

  The Arat Kur did, turned to face Hu’urs Khraam. “Esteemed First Delegate, the ships we destroyed are leading the van of the inbound fleet.”

  Urzueth Ragh burbled and wheezed. An Arat Kur snort. “Nonsense. We did destroy these ships. I was there and saw it at Barnard’s Star.”

  Caine shook his head. “No. These are ships that you were led to believe you had destroyed.”

  “Preposterous. This phantom fleet is the deception, not the events at Barnard’s Star. This is a human plot to make us believe ourselves in greater danger than we are, being carried out by small ships equipped with sophisticated image makers.”